


Fall

by sociallyinept



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Minor Stiles/OFC
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-25
Updated: 2013-03-25
Packaged: 2017-12-06 11:24:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/735123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sociallyinept/pseuds/sociallyinept
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek learns to let go of old ghosts as he builds new memories.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fall

**Author's Note:**

> My alternative title for this was 'Derek Hale Finds Happiness'.
> 
> Much love to [eloiserummaging](http://archiveofourown.org/users/eloiserummaging) for the beta. <3

Fall is his least favourite time of the year. 

It reminds him of being young and stupid. Craving the branding touch of a woman who murdered his family without a second thought and destroyed a lot more than he’d willingly given her. Fall to him means crisp air, a residual hint of cinnamon from homemade hot chocolates, and the red and brown leaves Laura had been flinging at him when that piercing ache had shot through him, sudden, and he’d spun around to see her stricken face and they had just known. 

Fall was when they left, turning their backs on the town they grew up in, putting as much distance between themselves and Kate Argent as possible. Fall was when his sister became his Alpha, and they had to learn to deal with the reality that all they had left were each other. 

Fall was the season Derek resolved to never be vulnerable again. 

~ 

“You and your brick fucking walls!” Stiles yells at him one night, hands flapping around in frustration. He doesn’t respond. Stares at Stiles in hopes the idiot takes a hint and leaves him be. He doesn’t say, _they’re there for a reason_ , because Stiles already knows. They’ve just gotten rid of a rogue witch after what feels like weeks of exhaustion and tense conflict, and maybe it’s the bags under Stiles’ bloodshot eyes that stop Derek from rearing up in defense. 

“Go home, Stiles,” he says instead, tired, scrubbing a hand over his face as he walks back into the house. 

He pauses at the top of the stairs when Stiles yanks open the door of the jeep and mutters, “Letting people in isn’t the end of the world, Derek.” 

But it is, he thinks. Stiles just doesn’t know it yet. 

~ 

Derek keeps up with training the betas. He teaches them everything he remembers. They’re his pack now. He doesn’t have all the answers but it’s his goddamn duty to keep them alive and safe. 

_Your heart is your strength_ , his mother used to say to him. He still doesn’t understand; all it makes him feel is weak. 

~ 

It was fall the last time he saw Laura, blazing eyes and dark hair, worry lines tight around her mouth as she told him she needed to go back. “If you don’t hear from me in a week, you can come find me,” she joked as she climbed into the Camaro. Her refusal to meet his eyes had said it all. 

He wonders if it would have made a difference, if he’d gone back with her and disobeyed her orders to stay behind. It was a palpable thing when it happened. He’d been anxious all evening, pacing the apartment with his cold pizza untouched when he felt his sister die. It was more than sudden loss - he felt like everything that had kept him grounded was no longer there. He was untethered and lost again, only this time he was also absent an Alpha. 

~ 

_I’m sorry_ , he whispers over and over again as he buries half her body, tears falling silently into the dirt beneath his hands. He’s lost count of the number of apologies he owes her. They were never going to be enough anyway. 

Laura was his anchor and he’s got nothing left to lose now. 

No one left to lose. 

~ 

It’s summer when Derek looks around his apartment at the faces staring back at him expectantly and is struck by the realisation that he has a pack now. They depend on him, expect answers from him to questions he never even thought to wonder himself. But they’re here, with him, a bunch of teenagers who are as tired of feeling lost as he is. 

~ 

Before he knows it, it’s fall again and another pack comes to town – challenges them to their territory. 

Surprisingly, it’s Stiles who runs them out of town. Stupidly loyal _suicidal_ Stiles, who refuses to back down from a threat if it means protecting his friends and his home. What might be more surprising is that Derek isn’t all that surprised in the end. 

“You did good,” he says, reaching out belatedly to squeeze Stiles’ arm, listening to his heartbeat gradually returning to normal. 

“You did good,” Stiles parrots with a shaky smile, mirroring his gesture. It comes across like a joke but Derek senses the honesty beneath his words, senses the relief thrumming through Stiles, every bit as alive as the fear had been just moments ago. 

The action has Derek pulling back in an instant, suddenly aware of how much Stiles reminds him of Laura. How eerily similar this exchange is to the one him and Laura shared when they’d finally gotten to Chicago and had successfully negotiated with a local pack for a spot of territory to call their own. 

There’s a pressure on his arm and when he glances up it’s right into the sharp concerned look Stiles is throwing at him. 

“I’m going to hug you,” Stiles is saying suddenly. “You just gave me an actual compliment, which is tragically unprecedented. And a good job equals rewards, right? Which you deserve too, definitely, so hugging is going to happen and you’re just going to deal with it, okay?” 

Stiles doesn’t even give Derek a moment to process that before there are arms are around him and he’s steamrolled into an embrace. He can’t help the way his first instinct is to tense up. His second is to growl, but by then Stiles has let go and stepped back almost like it never happened. 

Derek just watches as Stiles spins around and heads for his jeep, trying to ignore the lingering phantom press of arms around him even if for a brief moment he might have let himself believe that another person could bring him comfort again. 

~ 

Derek was the middle child of five. He asked a lot of questions but was happy enough left to his own devices in such a large family. It’s not a secret in Beacon Hills, especially not from Stiles who was at the sheriff’s department on the night of the fire. He remembers the scrawny kid sitting at the sheriff’s desk writing furiously and sneaking an occasional curious glance his way. 

Derek brings it up one night, sitting on the edge of Stiles’ bed while Stiles looks up something for him and connects a bunch of dots regarding a creature that’s been gutting small animals in the woods. It’s the way Stiles is scribbling things down on a notepad that triggers the memory and the words are out of his mouth before he can rein them in. 

Stiles spins around to face him and frowns. “You remember me...?” 

“I mean,” he starts reluctantly, “all those years ago, the night of the –” he meets Stiles’ gaze and Stiles just nods in realisation, eyes wide. “You were there, in your dad’s office. I remember you were there, is all.” He’s aware his words sound stilted but he can’t help it. He’s never discussed it with anyone else, spent years trying to keep it compartmentalised. He feels like he can think about it now without the crushing guilt that used to accompany his thoughts, but he’s not sure he’s ready to actually talk about it to anyone. 

Stiles doesn’t say anything, which is a relief; he just reaches out and curls his fingers around Derek’s hand, squeezing briefly before pulling back. 

Derek clears his throat and squashes down the warmth creeping into his chest. It’s been a year since the alpha pack and Stiles’ room is the only place besides his own that doesn’t leave him on edge. A yawn catches him off guard and Stiles snorts, jerking his head in the direction of the bed. “Might as well sleep. It’ll take me at least another hour to get through all this – God, has anyone ever told you your handwriting is atrocious?” 

He’s already slipping off his shoes and stifling another yawn and he doesn’t even think twice before answering. “Yeah, my brothers gave me crap for it all the time.” He doesn’t look at Stiles but he hears the sound of Stiles’ heart skipping a beat. 

“Yeah, well, you probably deserved it,” Stiles mutters after a moment, and Derek can hear the quiet smile in his words. He closes his eyes and rolls away to face the window. Things are easier when he’s around Stiles. He doesn’t feel like he’s always on the verge of disaster and Stiles doesn’t seem to hate him anymore. He much prefers the way things are now, even if it means Stiles no longer fears him and occasionally teases him like there’s no tomorrow. It’s almost familiar. Almost like he has a family again, if he lets himself think about it. Which he doesn’t. 

Denial is still a thing he’s allowed to have. 

~ 

Fall arrives, and with it the telltale crisp leaves and phantom smell of cinnamon in the air. Derek almost panics, because for the first time in almost eight years, none of it makes him want to curl up into a ball and hide away from the world. He steps out of his house the day the first rush of leaves have fallen, and feels at ease – maybe even a sense of purpose. He thinks of Laura throwing leaves at him and his heart aches, of course it does; it’s only been two years since Peter took her from him. But he thinks she’d be proud of him, and it helps. 

The familiar rumble of Stiles' jeep reaches his ears along with the unmistakable sounds of Stiles belting out a Queen song as it plays on the radio, and Derek is helpless against his mouth turning up at the corners. It's another few minutes before the jeep pulls into view so Derek leans against the porch railings and waits, staying where he is even as the sound of the coffee machine starts up from inside. He closes his eyes against the warm sun on his face and just breathes, not bothering to look as the jeep comes to a stop and Stiles practically springs from it. 

"I know I said I'd cool it with the dog jokes, but, dude, you look like a dog that's found the best sunbathing spot ever. All that's missing is your tongue hanging out and an endless supply of belly rubs." 

It probably says a lot about how far he's come that his first instinct these days is to roll his eyes instead of glaring at Stiles. 

“It’s called contentment, look it up,” he retorts, and Stiles’ eyes widen. 

“I – yeah,” Stiles says, stunned into silence for a moment before shaking his head and heading into the house. But Derek doesn’t miss Stiles grudgingly muttering, “It’s a good look on you.” 

~ 

Fall passes that year without incident, but when the first snow of winter rolls around, Derek still feels the relief, palpable in his chest. He’s curled up on the couch one evening with hot chocolate watching a movie with Isaac when the house phone rings, startling him. The house is complete now – has been for months, but it was only three weeks ago that Stiles demanded they put in a landline while he was home for Thanksgiving. Isaac moves to get up from where he’s tucked against Derek’s side, but Derek puts a hand on his knee to stop him and goes to answer it himself. It’s Stiles on the other end, of course it is. Stiles is the only one who hasn’t gotten over the novelty of being able to call the house yet. Stiles is also back at college and calls every few days to check up on them. Usually Erica will be around to snatch the phone up immediately and hog it for hours, but this weekend Boyd has taken her on a scenic road trip for her birthday. 

“Stiles,” Derek says by way of greeting when he hears the telltale fingernail drumming on the other end of the line. 

“Oh, hi!” Stiles sounds breathless and Derek swallows, curses his treacherous brain for the images it conjures up. 

It’s nothing short of a miracle that his voice comes out even when he asks, “What’s up?” 

“There was snow last night, right, and we went sledding down slopes after classes today. But there were these dudes who strung their makeshift sleds together and tried to go down the biggest hill on campus and it was awesome. You should have been there. Jesus, they collided so hard one dude had to get stitches on his face and there was so much blood like you would not believe. Or you would, I guess. Man,” Stiles pauses, laughs tiredly. “You would’ve loved it.” 

Something twists, warm and tangled in Derek’s chest. 

“I highly doubt that,” Derek says tonelessly, just to be a jerk. He’s picturing Stiles all pink-cheeked and flushed from the excitement and sledding, which – he can’t lie to himself now – is a thing he’d have loved to see. 

He’s also reminded of another thing Stiles and Laura had in common: their fascination with slightly morbid things. One year Laura had come home from school, eyes bright and recounting (very vividly) a brawl that had gone down in school and ended in bloody noses and someone calling the sheriff. 

Stiles doesn’t ramble as much as he used to, mostly when he’s nervous or excited, and it’s reached a point where at least Derek has grown to like it. It’s almost soothing, really, and he lets Stiles talk his ear off more often than not. 

He’s so caught up in his thoughts that he barely realises the phone is completely silent on the other end save for Stiles’ breathing. 

“Sorry what?” he asks, embarrassed, and hears a huff of laughter from the couch behind him. He turns to glare at Isaac. 

“I said ‘What’s going on with you’,” Stiles laughs, and Derek imagines for a second, Stiles in the house and occupying his personal space with his too-long limbs and ridiculous amber eyes and sometimes impossible curiosity. His words get stuck in his throat and by the time he recovers Stiles has carried on talking. “I mean, I know you’re a guy of few words, but talking on the phone often requires more than single-word answers.” 

“Shut up, Stiles,” Derek says fondly. 

“Make me,” Stiles teases, and Derek’s brain goes a little fuzzy. It’s a recent thing, the flirting. It started two months ago while Stiles was still dating Kyle from his Intro to Psych class (although they’d broken up soon after). Derek sometimes manages a witty comeback, but mostly he rolls his eyes. Now though, Stiles can’t see him, and eye rolls aren’t fooling anyone. So he says nothing. 

“How’s everyone?” Stiles asks instead, much to his relief, and Derek can hear the sound of sheets rustling, figures Stiles is about to curl up in bed and watch a movie like he does on some weekends. 

“They’re good, we’re good. Isaac’s here, Boyd and Erica are on their trip. Saw your dad on Tuesday at the store and he’s invited us over for dinner again next weekend.” It’s still new, the ease with which he finds himself willing to talk sometimes. His pack is full of people he trusts now, people he’s grown to realise care about more about him than what he has to say. His value is no longer just the extent of his knowledge or his powers as an Alpha, and they’re with him by choice now instead of obligation or self-preservation. 

Stiles hums, the sound warm in his ear and mirroring the contentment he feels. 

“Wish you were here,” he adds before he can change his mind. 

“Yeah?” Stiles asks, and there’s a pleased lilt to his voice. 

“Yeah, there’s too much cinnamon in this house because no one likes it but you,” he says gruffly, and Stiles snorts, breaking the building tension he was trying not to think about. 

“Well, I’ll be back next week for winter break, so you can stop complaining. And I know you secretly love cinnamon in your hot chocolate now, don’t even front.” He glances over at his hot chocolate (with cinnamon) on the coffee table and catches Isaac shooting him a smile with puppy eyes full of hope. 

“You’ll never prove it,” he says, deadpan, and then, “Isaac wants the phone now. I’ll see you Thursday, Stiles.” 

“You underestimate me, Derek Hale, which is poor judgment on your part.” Stiles makes an abrupt sound and then he’s screeching horribly down the phone, “I’ll get you yet, my pretty, and your little dog, too!” Derek winces and holds the phone as far away from his ear as possible. He shakes his head. He is never sitting through _The Wizard of Oz_ with Stiles ever again. 

He turns around and Isaac is already hovering behind him waiting for the phone. Derek passes it over and ruffles Isaac’s hair, going back to his movie and hot chocolate. He listens to Isaac complain about him for a minute and tunes out most of the conversation behind him to give them privacy (and maybe a little to preserve his sanity), but can’t help listening to the sudden bursts of laughter and fondness in Stiles’ voice. 

~ 

It turns out Stiles will never stop being a magnet for trouble, so trouble follows him home from college the week before Christmas. It’s another wolf, an omega, though Derek eventually determines she’s harmless and was mostly curious about why Stiles smelled of wolf. Her name is Chloe and she’s short – smaller than Lydia and Erica – with long black hair that has bright green streaks. They learn that she’s in school with Stiles, thinks Stiles is cute, and isn’t looking for a pack. Just friends. It’s Scott who encounters her first, the night Stiles comes home. The two had been playing a round of Call of Duty when Scott caught her scent nearby. When Stiles relays the story to Derek, there’s a lot of eye rolling and admonishing Scott for using unnecessary force. Stiles was the one who called Derek and asked if he could bring a friendly, and Derek grudgingly said yes. 

When she showed up that first night, she was respectful and clearly knew her way around pack hierarchy. She was a born wolf, like him, though without a pack by choice. She told them, eventually, of how she’d come to be on her own after losing her parents; she hadn’t agreed with the way her aunt had decided to run the pack. 

Stiles takes to her almost immediately, and the rest of the pack are surprisingly pleasant. If Derek is short-tempered for days after she leaves with Stiles’ number and a promise to visit, no one says anything about it. Stiles only gives Derek all of three days before he’s forcing Christmas cheer down his throat and decorating the house and ordering the betas around once Lydia has found the perfect tree. It’s hectic and overwhelming and the first Christmas in the Hale house since the rebuild, and Derek feels like he’s been steamrollered ten times over by the time the twenty-third rolls around. 

Christmas is mostly a blur of presents, an obscene number of tiny lights, lots of food and the memorable disaster that is Stiles’ attempt at making eggnog. Derek demands they take down everything before the new year, giving in a little when Erica and Isaac beg him to keep the lights. They throw a New Year’s Eve party as well, because the house is all set up for it, and why the hell not? 

~ 

When January rolls around and college starts again, Derek misses the noise of a full house. Getting used to everyone around came quickly this time; all of a few chaotic weeks. Isaac starts working at the hospital to finish his training to be a paramedic with the help of a recommendation from Melissa McCall, and Boyd starts an internship at the town newspaper. Erica decides she wants to major in psychology, and spends even more time on the phone with Stiles talking about assignments. Scott is working full time by then at Deaton’s and has finally reached a stable point in his relationship with Allison. Derek is almost impressed, not that he’d admit it to Scott. It took a whole year after the Gerard incident before Erica stopped hating Allison enough to let her anywhere near the house. She still doesn’t trust or like Allison too much, but there’s enough of a truce, and Derek can see that Allison’s efforts to prove herself to Erica and Boyd and the rest are not in vain. 

Even though all the pack but Stiles and Lydia still live in the area, Derek starts feeling lonely again. He doesn’t talk to Stiles much, because Erica is always first to grab the phone with a, “Hey, Batman.” Derek wonders what Boyd thinks of it all, but he’s also noticed Lydia sandwiched between Erica and Boyd in a cuddle pile a few times over Winter break so he doesn’t say anything. 

~ 

In April while everyone is back for Spring Break, a witch comes to town. She’s definitely hostile and seeking out revenge for something. Derek never finds out what, because Stiles takes one look at her outfit and snorts, showing a complete lack of self-preservation. The witch lashes out and attacks Stiles in a blind rage, and Derek doesn’t even think before jumping in front of her to protect Stiles. He gets knocked back by a cloud of energy that smells like mothballs, and then everything goes fuzzy. He’s aware of a lot of yelling, Stiles, and then the witch, and more yelling, but he can’t move. There’s another wave of mothballs, and then the witch is gone and Stiles is half on top of him slapping his face and yelling his name. He frowns as well as he can, but his muscle control isn’t the best, and he has to deal with Boyd and Isaac lifting him up and dragging him into the house before he passes out where they’ve left him on his bed. 

When he wakes up, Stiles is stretched out next to him, playing Bejeweled on his phone with headphones in. He groans, rolls over, and then grunts when he realises his head is still kind of fuzzy. Stiles startles, at least, yanking out his headphones, forehead creasing in concern. 

“How are you feeling?” 

Derek doesn’t know how to describe what his head feels like. “What happened?” he asks, and Stiles has the grace to look guilty for a moment before he’s apologizing and explaining that the witch was looking for Peter. Derek tenses, but an arm on his chest holds him in place and Stiles starts to explain that the witch agreed to leave once she realised the pack no longer had any ties to Peter. They called Deaton who explained the spell was a simple offensive throwback and the effects would fade eventually, and then Stiles smells embarrassed when he says Erica and Isaac got upset with him for being so reckless and mouthing off without thinking. Which is why he’s there, in Derek’s bed, keeping an eye on him and tasked with explaining the situation. 

“Apparently witches with fanny packs designed for ten year olds are not to be underestimated,” Stiles says meekly. It’s almost an effort to not laugh; the lethargy helps. 

“Just try not to do it again,” Derek says after a while. He’s tired but he doesn’t want sleep, and Stiles must hear it in his voice because there’s shuffling and then Stiles is laying down facing him with a strange look on his face. 

“Talk to me,” he says. “You were muttering in your sleep just now.” 

Derek freezes. “What did I say?” 

Stiles looks uncomfortable for a bit before he averts his eyes. “Something about being weak. Your heart? I don’t really know, it was pretty jumbled and I thought it was gibberish at first but you kept repeating those two words for a while.” 

Derek rolls onto his back and closes his eyes. He finds himself wanting to tell Stiles about his mother. 

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Stiles says quietly. “It just sounded like something that was bothering you.” 

“It’s nothing,” Derek says instinctively, and Stiles starts to move away before Derek can finish his sentence. “Wait,” he says sharply. Stiles turns to look at him, waiting. Derek wraps a hand around Stiles’ wrist where he’s propped up and says, “Can you just – stay a while?” 

Stiles hesitates a fraction of a second and then leans back against the headboard. They stay that way for a few minutes and Derek lets the silence grow until he can’t ignore it any longer. 

“It was something my mother used to tell me.” 

“Oh,” Stiles breathes out, and lowers himself back down to face Derek. He’s quiet, just looking at Derek with an astounding amount of patience. Derek stares at the laugh lines around Stiles’ eyes, the scattering of frown lines across his forehead, creases deepened with worry, and wonders when Stiles grew up so much, why he hadn’t noticed it more. 

“She used to say my heart was my strength,” is what he starts with, and Stiles inhales sharply before nodding. “I don’t think I ever quite understood that,” he admits, embarrassed. “She said a lot of things to me that I guess were meant to be lessons. You know, when you’re a kid and you ask your parents about something only sometimes they brush it aside and tell you it’ll make sense when you’re older. My mom was the opposite, always whispering things to me and then giving me a knowing look like she was letting me in on the secrets to life or the universe. Or happiness, I guess.” He feels like he’s run out of steam, suddenly, and doesn’t quite know how to continue. 

Stiles, thankfully, does it for him. “So you think it makes you weak?” 

Derek shrugs. 

“I think it makes perfect sense,” Stiles says with a small smile. “She wanted you to find your strength in positive emotions, and in the people you surround yourself with. The people you love and care for make you stronger because of the bond you share and how much you’re willing to do for them. You don’t need someone else to tell you if you’re strong, and taking longer to trust people or care about them doesn’t make you weak or vulnerable.” Stiles finishes speaking and blinks, like he’s almost as surprised at himself as Derek is. 

“I. Thanks,” he manages in reply, and it’s not enough but in what seems to be a recurring theme at the moment, he can’t think of anything else to say except, “college seems to be good for you.” He looks down at where his hand his still wrapped around Stiles’ wrist and squeezes once before letting go. 

“You’re a good person, Derek, and your heart’s always been in the right place. All you needed was time and better circumstances. You have that now.” 

“You sound like Laura,” Derek finds himself admitting, and Stiles’ face softens. “You two would have gotten along like a house on fire,” he says with a laugh and almost misses it when Stiles gapes at him in shock. It takes Derek a few seconds to realise what he said. 

“Oh wow, fuck,” he says with a strangled laugh, rolling over to bury his face in a pillow. He tries to calm himself down but he can’t stop the laughter until he’s shaking with it and he’s probably freaking Stiles out but there’s nothing he can do about it. 

“You are so fucked up sometimes,” Stiles says from somewhere above him, and then there’s a hand swatting his arm and Stiles is laughing too, so it’s okay. Stiles lets him laugh till he cries and doesn’t say anything else, just lays there with him until he can breathe normally again. 

He turns his head to look at Stiles and finds himself staring into honey warm eyes that are way too close. Stiles blinks. “Feel better?” 

He settles for smacking Stiles on the thigh since it’s easier than saying thank you without knowing what exactly he’s thankful for. 

~ 

Stiles had been incredulous upon finding out that Chloe liked variety and casual dating, but mostly in a aren’t-werewolves-supposed-to-be-possessive-? way. Derek gets a text from Stiles about it at the start of spring. 

**Dude, aren’t werewolves supposed to be totally possessive of the people they sleep with?**

Derek rolls his eyes at his phone in amusement. 

**We’re still people with preferences, Stiles. Why do you ask?**

His phone rings and he answers the call with a sigh. “Awesome, okay,” Stiles rambles on, “Chloe wanted to know if I’d be comfortable with her seeing other people too. It’s fine, because we’re just hanging out, but I always thought wolves were like Scott with the _rawr, my precious_ , vibe going on.” 

Derek frowns, because he’s never really thought about this before. His aunt Trish was always going out on dates with different people and it never seemed too out of the ordinary. She never brought them to meet the family though, which he supposes made sense. You wouldn’t be letting someone meet your werewolf family if you weren’t actually serious about them. 

“I guess as long as it isn’t a long-term relationship it doesn’t matter,” Derek ventures, and Stiles hmms, questioning. 

“That makes sense, I guess. I always figured it was weirder sleeping with different people or the same three people consistently and having all those scents to keep track of. And then smelling someone else on your partner if they’re also casually dating other people?” 

“Maybe some werewolves can handle it,” Derek shrugs, forgetting Stiles can’t see him. “After Laura and I got to New York, three years after the fire, I think Laura slept with a lot of different people. She never brought anyone home, though I could always smell them on her. Never the same guy. But I think none of them ever got a chance to know anything about her. Chloe is an omega by choice, so I’m going to guess she doesn’t feel the pressure to settle down.” 

“What about you?” Stiles sounds genuinely curious and the reason for the question throwing Derek off is probably all in his head. 

Derek shifts uncomfortably, glad they aren’t having this conversation face to face. “I’m a pretty all-or-nothing guy, I think,” he says after a beat. “There wasn’t – I never dated seriously after Kate. I tried once, with this girl in New York. She worked at the Starbucks near our place. We went out for dinner a couple of times and one night, um, when the waiter hit on me and I smiled back, she freaked out and left.” 

“Wow,” Stiles whistles, “I guess that was one crisis averted, huh.” 

“You have no idea,” Derek says conspiratorially, “we had to find a new Starbucks.” 

~ 

Stiles comes home for the summer and is around the house more often than not. 

The heat is cloying and intense for a good three weeks and they spend the start of the heat wave out by the falls near the preserve. Derek hasn’t been to the cliffs since he was fifteen and the instinct to fall back into overwhelming nostalgia is curbed by Erica’s wild yelling as she vaults off the topmost outcropping and plummets towards the water. There are several lower ones that the humans in his family used to use. He watches as Stiles sulks and heads for one of those. Can’t help but smirk when Stiles looks up and glares at them. 

Derek doesn’t play favourites with his betas, but he has a definite soft spot for Erica. He remembers watching her the week before he offered her the bite. She was bullheaded even then, spurred on by her resentment toward the people who treated her like shit. He could see her drive, even then, to prove people wrong, to rise above everything and everyone she could. Now she has the physical strength to be that and she’s taken to it like a fish to water. It was a rocky start, of course, and Derek might not have had the best intentions at the time, but he doesn’t regret picking her. Doesn’t regret any of them (now that Jackson has left). 

Stiles declares a ban on summer after the second day of cliff diving, sprawled across the entire couch and an angry pink all over. 

“That’s because you’re an idiot,” Lydia says smugly. Derek has to agree. He’d been there when Lydia offered Stiles the sunscreen and Stiles had waved it off. 

“Sunscreen is a human essential for summer,” Derek chips in, just to watch Stiles flap a hand in his direction with a weak grunt. 

“I’m an invalid now, a lobster-red slab of burnt human toast,” Stiles moans pathetically. “Someone aloe me!” he calls out. 

He tries to ignore his traitorous brain when Lydia throws the tube of aloe vera at him first, just reaches out to catch it before it hits him in the face. He and Stiles aren’t significant others. Everyone who assumes that aloe duty for Stiles falls to Derek first is just a jerk. But, let it be said that Derek is fully capable of being the bigger person. He takes on the task as an Alpha. That’s all. 

Denial. Totally a thing. 

Stiles makes a noise like a braying donkey and Derek rises reluctantly, settles himself on a open spot on the couch. Derek is already starting to worry he’ll regret this. 

The first cool touch to Stiles’ overheated skin – just the top of a shoulder – elicits the most pornographic moan. Stiles doesn’t even seem contrite, just throws his head back and makes noises at how good the aloe feels. Derek has half a mind to get everyone else to leave the room so he doesn’t embarrass himself. 

“This is great,” Lydia says to Boyd with glee, and Derek sighs, resigned to his fate. 

Derek doesn’t actually want to stop, despite the dying from embarrassment bit. He uses his healing abilities to take away some of Stiles’ burning discomfort, watches the black ink race up the veins in his forearm. It’s more than worth it for the shocked noise of gratefulness that Stiles lets out. 

~ 

When fall rolls around again, Derek is prepared. Stiles comes back for a weekend and doesn’t bring Chloe with him. 

“We decided we were better at casual hookups without the dating,” Stiles says with a shrug when asked, and Derek understands. Even if Chloe was okay with dating multiple people at once, Stiles prefers to tie his feelings to one person at a time. 

Stiles offers to cook that weekend for dinner at the Stilinski house, which means Derek is doing most of the cooking, casually bumping shoulders with Stiles, who’s standing next to him and asking over and over again what Derek is making. Derek thinks the dinner mystery becomes fairly obvious after a certain point but says nothing because he secretly likes the pestering. 

Allison is away visiting cousins in Texas and Scott, Erica, Isaac, Lydia and Boyd are heaped on and around the couch in front of the television with Melissa and the sheriff. 

“I talked to Dad today,” Stiles says casually, as Derek throws celery chunks in the stew. He makes a noise he hopes translates to a go-ahead for Stiles to continue. “He said you approached him about training to become a deputy?” 

Derek glances sideways at him. “Is that not okay?” 

“Nah, it’s cool. It was just odd, hearing it from him first.” 

Derek shrugs, guilty. He’s not sure why he kept that from Stiles, or everyone else for that matter. “It was just a passing thought,” he lies, and Stiles looks at him funny. 

“You know my dad is cool with the whole werewolf thing, right? He doesn’t even think of you as an ex-con anymore,” Stiles teases. 

He does know. The sheriff looks at him these days with something approaching warmth. Invites him over for dinner, pats him on the back sometimes and actually looks pleasantly surprised running into him at the grocery store or the gas station. He wants to do more, though; wants to help with things the department can’t on their own. The sheriff has never asked him for help, but Derek wants to offer. Especially if it means being in a position to better protect the guy. There’s more to that last part though that Derek isn’t quite ready to confront yet. 

“The house is done, things are settled, the rest of the pack is now busy with their own stuff, so I figured –” 

“Aw, dude, are you lonely? Do you miss Stiles Stilinksi’s irreplaceable presence in your everyday life,” Stiles goads, nudging Derek’s shoulder playfully. 

“I cry myself to sleep every night,” Derek says impassively and turns to look at the chopping board on the island counter as Stiles snorts. “Hand me those carrots,” he orders, and Stiles thankfully complies without a word. 

He chucks the carrots in the stew and as he moves to turn down the heat, he can feel Stiles watching him. “What?” he asks stepping back to lean against the counter and crossing his arms. 

Stiles moves to stand in front of him and pries his arms apart, satisfied when they are hanging casually at his sides again. “No need to get all defensive, geez,” Stiles scolds. 

“You were staring,” he says. 

“Is that against the law?” Stiles asks with a raised eyebrow. 

Derek shifts uncomfortably. “It’s weird,” he grumbles. 

Stiles tilts his head and Derek feels like he’s suddenly under a goddamned microscope. 

Derek thinks of escaping, isn’t at all opposed to taking the coward’s way out of this, but it doesn’t matter. Stiles steps forward again and leans in, and then all Derek can think of is that Stiles’ lips are really soft, which is impressive considering how often Stiles licks them. A warm palm curls along the side of his jaw and he remembers to kiss back, to press forward and pull Stiles close and let Stiles lick into his mouth carefully. Derek spares a moment to worry that it’s been too long since he’s really kissed anyone, but it comes back to him quickly and he falls gratefully into it, lets Stiles lead, sucks on Stiles’ tongue when he gets the chance. 

Stiles moans, really loud, and Derek is suddenly aware of how silent it is outside the kitchen. Stiles catches on, pulls back and claps a hand over his mouth. They stare at each other, wide-eyed. 

“It’s about damn time!” Isaac yells from the living room, and the laughter that follows is a relief. 

“God, I’ve been wanting to do that for a while,” Stiles murmurs, pressing their foreheads together so he can kiss Derek again. It’s just a press of lips this time but Derek feels the shiver all the way to his toes. 

“Yeah,” he manages, fingers clenching reflexively in Stiles’ flannel shirt. He doesn’t know where to put his hands. 

“So tell me, Derek Hale,” Stiles drawls, hooking his arms around Derek’s neck, “Did you miss me while I was gone?” 

Derek watches as Stiles’ mouth splits into an impossibly wide smile, reaches up to trace the laugh lines that deepen. He narrows his eyes. “You know I did,” he says accusingly. It’s not even a revelation that takes him by surprise. It figures that it would have happened gradually, snuck up on him like everything else he’s come to realise about Stiles. 

“Why now?” 

“Got tired of waiting for you to make a move,” Stiles says with an exaggerated sigh. “I’m kind of an all-or-nothing guy too, y’know.” 

Derek’s heart thuds dramatically. Maybe this – this is a thing he can have. Stiles is warm and familiar and safe. Derek can’t remember when he let Stiles crawl through the cracks. He’s suddenly conscious of the steady heartbeats in the next room. “I know,” he says quietly, leans in to nose along the side of Stiles’ jaw. Scents him. Stiles shivers. 

“I like the scenting crap, for the record. You should be so glad I’m pro-werewolves.” 

“Come back with me after dinner?” He’s nervous, hates that he’s nervous. 

“Was already planning on it,” Stiles grins. 

He stares at Stiles’ mouth and can’t help himself, leaning in to kiss it again, tugging at Stiles’s lower lip with his teeth as he pulls back. Stiles makes an inhuman noise of protest. Derek smiles. “Dinner’s ready!” he shouts, loud enough for the humans to hear. 

Stiles shoots him an evil glare and pokes him in the side. “You would play dirty, you fucker. This is far from over.” There’s no real heat to the words, only a frustration Derek understands. He can smell the arousal coming off of Stiles and it’s only half familiar. He watches Stiles walk away to grab a bowl of stew. 

When Stiles was sixteen and smelling of arousal seventy-five percent of the time he was around Derek, Derek understood, had hated when Laura teased him about it when he was in high school. So he consciously stopped picking out Stiles’ scent, only noticing in a general sense when it had mellowed out by the time Stiles was eighteen. It’s not quite the same now, and this information, when it hits him, is unexpected. Stiles smells of a desperation that is focused and full of intent in ways Derek has never sensed on him. Not when Stiles talked about Kyle, or Chloe. 

Derek is in the middle of his epiphany when the kitchen is invaded by hungry wolves, so he has no choice but to put it out of his mind for now. 

He catches the sheriff watching him during dinner and tries not to freak out. He hopes this doesn’t compromise his plan of working with the guy, though he imagines it might get awkward dating the boss’s son. 

Stiles wolfs down his food and licks his lips, patting and cooing at his food baby. Derek suspects it already has a name. It should not be attractive on _anyone_ and yet. Derek averts his gaze, doesn’t even try to understand his own brain. 

Derek finishes his own food at a much more reasonable pace and then carries all the empty bowls to the kitchen to wash up. When he emerges, John and Melissa are talking about something and the rest are sprawled out on cushions. 

Stiles stands up. “We’re leaving,” he announces, then turns to stare at the betas. “Give us an hour before you leave,” he says with a wink, and Derek watches the sheriff bury his head in his hands. 

“Stiles,” Derek starts, and John holds up a hand. 

“I don’t want to know, just go, please.” 

“Yessir!” Stiles salutes, then drags Derek out the door. 

“Thanks for dinner, boys!” yells Melissa with a wave. 

~ 

They don’t make it to the bed. They get as far as the inside of Derek’s room, at least, and then everything dissolves into harsh breaths and fumbling hands and open-mouthed tongue fucking that doesn’t even deserve to be called kissing. They manage to get naked at least, and then Stiles makes a noise and Derek looks up to find Stiles staring at his dick. 

“What?” Logically he knows he has no reason to be self-conscious. And yet. 

Stiles shakes his head quickly. “No, nothing, just. I really like it.” Stiles grins, wraps a large hand around Derek and thumbs along his foreskin before tugging gently, pulling it up around the head of Derek’s dick. Derek clenches his teeth, lets the heat pool in his groin. He’s thought about this, several times in various settings, has thought about Stiles’ hands and those goddamn fingers. Has thought of Stiles’ mouth, of fucking into that inviting wet warmth. 

He reaches up and cups Stiles’ cheek, runs a thumb across red bitten lips before pressing in, slipping the pad of his thumb along the rough wetness of Stiles’ tongue. Stiles groans, wraps his lips around Derek’s finger and sucks enthusiastically, and it’s absolutely obscene. He pulls his thumb away, replaces it with two fingers and watches as they disappear between Stiles’ lips, gets out a choked, “fuck, Stiles.” 

Stiles moans, loudly, and Derek should have known Stiles would be like this when it came to sex. Stiles squeezes and twists the hand wrapped around Derek’s dick, jerks him frantically and Derek is close, too close. Doesn’t want to come alone. He pulls his fingers from Stiles’ lips, gives into his desperation and surges to kiss Stiles again while he gets his hand around them both and jerks them off right there pressed up against the inside of Derek’s bedroom door. He swallows every noise Stiles makes, returns them with sounds of his own and thrills at the feel of Stiles against his skin. Every bit of him is alive and thrumming with the scent and taste of Stiles and his wolf is finally appeased – finally forgiving him after too many months of denying it what it wanted. 

There are fingers tangled in his hair keeping him in place as Stiles devours his mouth and he knows that Stiles is so close to coming. He tightens his fist, gets his other hand on Stiles ass and slips a finger between Stiles’ cheeks, presses a dry fingertip just in and Stiles jerks, fingers tightening in Derek’s hair and coming all over them both. The scent of it hits him and Derek is swearing, coming all of two seconds later before his brain goes offline and he gives up on working his legs and lets them both slump to the floor in a sweaty, disgusting, spunk-covered heap. 

“Christ,” he mutters. 

“That was way better in reality,” Stiles concedes, sounding winded. 

“You’ve thought about this a lot?” Derek asks mildly. 

Stiles snorts. “Haven’t you?” 

“Maybe once,” Derek allows. “I wasn’t lucid at the time.” 

“Asshole,” Stiles laughs, and that’s the best thing. It’s been so long since Derek’s had someone that things were this simple with. He’d forgotten how good it could be. 

“Sorry for not making a move sooner,” he says after a minute, turning his head to look at Stiles. They’re sprawled out side by side, fingers tangled between them. There’s a blotch of pink just beneath Stiles’ cheekbone and he’s reminded of how long it’s been since the first time he found himself wanting to taste it. 

“Dude, I know this has been, like, two years in the making, but I’m kind of glad we took the time we did to get here.” Stiles squeezes his hand and turns to stare back at him. 

Derek has to look away to hide his smile. He doesn’t quite know how to explain that he’s glad too, that he wouldn’t have been ready before, with all his baggage and his regrets and his _brick fucking walls _. “Me too,” he says quietly.__

“We probably would have crashed and burned if we tried this two years ago,” Stiles admits. Derek nods silently. He was still more anger than acceptance back then, and Stiles was always rushing headfirst into unknown territory, apologies or regrets coming second. Derek is happy these days. It’s a thing he can admit to himself now that he’s given up on ridiculous levels of denial and expecting the worst of those around him. He’s not dense; he knows that Stiles played a significant role in the improvement, even if happened so gradually he stopped keeping track of it. 

“I asked to join the department so I could help your dad and keep an eye on him at the same time,” Derek confesses. 

Stiles exhales loudly and rolls on top of him before making a face. “Ugh, dried come is gross,” he says, but kisses Derek anyway. “I had my suspicions,” he says. “In case you missed the memo, by the way, I’m kind of in love with you.” 

“Thank you,” Derek says lightly, but the catch in his breath betrays him. He grins, knows he deserves the slap to his hip when it comes. He stretches up to mouth along Stiles’ jaw. “I’m kind of into you too. Wanna go steady?” He squeezes Stiles’ ass for emphasis. 

Stiles wriggles on top of him, elbows him in too many places. “You know this means we’re boyfriends now, right? You’ll never be rid of me. There will be awful pet names.” It sounds like a threat as much as a promise. 

“I think I’ll live,” Derek deadpans. 

“For the record, I think you’d make a fine deputy, Mister Hale,” Stiles declares, hand on his heart, then pushes off to drag them in the direction of the bathroom. 

~ 

They are sitting on the couch with hot chocolates (and cinnamon) when Erica and Boyd return home with Lydia in tow. He raises an eyebrow. 

“Isaac is crashing with Scott,” Erica says with a grin, stealing Derek’s hot chocolate and settling between Lydia and Boyd on the pile of cushions at the other end of the couch. 

Derek watches as Erica hands the hot chocolate to Lydia and then leans in to nip at her ear. So that answers that question, Derek thinks. He turns to look at Stiles who presses his hot chocolate into Derek’s hands. “We can share,” Stiles says and kisses Derek. He tastes like minty chocolate and cinnamon. 

“I’d suggest you two get a room, but I’m going to assume you already have,” Lydia sighs. 

“Please,” Stiles scoffs. “I’ve put up with you three for this long it’s only fair you deal with it.” 

Derek sips at his – their – hot chocolate and lets the warmth spread across his chest all the way to his fingertips. He listens to Stiles and Lydia bicker over appropriate levels of public affection and feels a strange knot in his chest slowly unravel. He notices Boyd reach across Erica to curl fingers along the back of Lydia’s neck and thinks, _this is it_. He feels settled and sure and grounded again, tethered by his ties to his pack and a secondary set of invisible strings linking him doubly to Stiles. 

He sits back and looks around the room and lets himself think it. _Home_. 

And maybe it’s too soon to tell, but fall is starting to feel like Derek’s favourite season again. 

~~

**Author's Note:**

> Boyd/Lydia/Erica is my personal headcanon. As is Derek Hale/Hot Chocolate.
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> I'm on [Tumblr](http://tenderesttouch.tumblr.com/) :)


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